


Push/Pull

by BustersJezebel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Mates, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BustersJezebel/pseuds/BustersJezebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brushing a palm against his thigh, Stiles felt one of his many scars. He couldn’t believe so little time had actually passed. He felt like he was a hundred years old most days instead of only just into his second decade.</p>
<p>Grief will always be his constant companion now. Constant, crippling grief. </p>
<p>I have no ownership of Teen Wolf characters or the actors who portray them so well. All kudos must go to Jeff Davis for his brilliant creations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push/Pull

Stiles packed the last of his gear into his jeep. His overcoat flapped in the wind as his dad came out of the house with a bag of food for his trip. Shaking his head, Stiles set it on the passenger seat. And then they stand and stare at each other.

“You gonna go see him before you leave?” His father questions him quietly.

“Yeah, I’ll go see both of them.” Stiles answers in a whisper. His voice is raw, practically gone. He’s barely slept for the past several weeks, just catnaps here and there. He’s plagued by nightmares of scenes he’s lived too recently to think about, haunting his every breath.

Brushing his hand through his messy hair he reaches for his father just as he reaches for Stiles. They hug silently for a long time without moving. The Sheriff clears his throat and pulls back. “I get vacation, when you get to wherever you’re going, I’ll visit you. I know you can’t come back here. I wouldn’t ask you to given what you’ve been through kiddo. Don’t even go there.”

Nodding Stiles finally climbs into his jeep and starts the engine. “Love you Dad.” He says as he stares unblinkingly at the man who’d given him life.

“Love you too kiddo.” The Sheriff brushes a hand over Stiles’ arm where it rests on the open window of the jeep. “Now get going, you’re wasting daylight.”

With a final nod, Stiles puts the jeep in reverse and is on his way. He drives outside town, the opposite direction he’ll eventually be travelling, he knows where he’s going, at least for a while anyway.

He stops in the woods, near their spot, and gets out. He walks for a time until he comes to the clearing. Sitting on the log they’d dragged into place one night he lets his tears come again. His mind is a kaleidoscope of images and memories, of love for the person he will mourn forever.

He idly looks at his boots. No more trainers for him. When he’d started learning to defend himself, his first lesson was that he was human, he needed every advantage against a werewolf he could get. And steel-capped boots were one of those advantages.

He wore nothing else these days unless he was running. Looking down at his hands he fingers his nails, now bitten to the quick, his palms were callused, his trigger fingers more so. He was a weapon, trained to kill. And he had killed. And with every breath he wanted to kill again.

Brushing a palm against his thigh, Stiles felt one of his many scars. He couldn’t believe so little time had actually passed. He felt like he was a hundred years old most days instead of only just into his second decade.

His face twitches and his hand rises now to ghost over the scar there. It was a reminder of what he’d lost every time he looked in the mirror. A reminder of what he’d been caused to lose. He buries his fury, fury was useless. He’d promised to let him stay dead, and that was a promise he wouldn’t break.

No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted and needed his best friend. He was gone. Stiles had promised eons ago to let him stay that way if it ever happened.

After a time he brushes both hands over his face, wipes away his tears and stands. When he’s back at his jeep he very nearly turns around and leaves for good as his father had talked about. But, he can’t. He owes it to him to say goodbye, a final goodbye. Even if he’d never get the same courtesy in return.

When he gets to the house he sits and stares at it. Re-built. He’d had such visions for the future. A future here, living in the house with Derek. Waking, sleeping, fucking together. Until they died of old age. Together. Always together. Those visions were like ashes in his mouth now, even as he pulled them close, they were tainted.

Fuck, what a sappy romantic he’d been. Stiles knows he’s aware that he’s outside, procrastinating about going inside. “I’m coming, don’t worry you fucker.” He says in an even tone as he gets out and walks up the steps and inside without knocking.

He can tell immediately that it’s only the two of them. Most of the others are dead anyway. Something else he’d been taught. Sensing another’s presence.

“You can’t go.” The words are soft, but not begging or pleading. Stiles hardens his heart against him. He’d have given in once, but that time was past.

“Fuck you, you can’t stop me.” He answers, feeling combative already. He wanted this fight, wanted to leave in a fit of anger. Needed to.

“I _can_ , I can forbid it, you’re pack.” The tone is firmer now.

“I’m a fucking human, not a wolf, I don’t have to obey you, I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.” Stiles answers, louder now. Nearly yelling.

He turns, having said he was going, he’s not running away, he’s walking away, doing what he’d said he was going to do for the past week. Longer, if he was being honest.

They’d discussed leaving before, for at least as long as Stiles went to college anyway. But that hadn’t come to pass. College was a pipe dream now. Almost assuredly it was forever beyond his grasp.

“Look,” the tone is trying to be cajoling now, failing miserably. He steps forward into the light. Stiles stares at him. All burnished skin, glowing eyes and rippling muscles. The clothes he’s wearing barely contain him. “I know once that door closes you think you won’t be coming back. But you will. When I call – _and I will call_ – you’ll come. You’ll _always_ come. You love me, we’re pack. You’ll do anything for me. When I call, you’ll have no choice, I’ll pull you in even as you try to push away. That means something, we _mean_ something to each other.”

Stiles stares at him.

And he begins to laugh. “We mean something to each other? I loved you fucktard, I would have _died_ for you! With you! Gladly. Except you had to let _him_ die, order _him_ to die, put _him_ to death, like _his_ life was nothing. Just because you always fucking disliked him. And you know what?” Stiles went on before he could answer.

“I might be only human, but I know you fucking lied to me every time I asked you why you hated him and you said you didn’t. I can tell you everyfuckingsingletime you’ve lied to me. I _know_ you!” He’s screaming now, snot running down his nose into his mouth, spittle flying everywhere.

He stands in front of Stiles, calm though his eyes are glowing a dark red now. Stiles knows he’s pushing a button somewhere.

“I’ll bite you, then you’ll have to stay.” He says serenely as he steps forward. Stiles laughs as he shoves up his arm.

“You think I didn’t come prepared for that? I’ve been fucking mainlining wolfsbane since you killed him you fucker.” He laughs, watching as he steps back away, into the shadows again. Where he fucking belonged. Who would have thought that would happen, that he’d _belong_ in the shadows, like the half-crazed creature he’s become.

“I won’t fucking lie, we did mean something to each other once. Years ago.” He says. “But that’s gone, you mean nothing to me anymore, don’t ever contact me again, even if it’s to tell me my father has died. I’ve made other arrangements. And believe me when _I_ say that when you call?” Stiles shakes his head. “I won’t even _hear_ you never mind _heed_ it.” He turns and walks out onto the porch.

“He offered to go.” The words are rushed, as footsteps follow him onto the porch. “You can’t leave, I _command_ you to stay, you’re part of _my_ pack, you cleaved to _my_ pack!” His voice is rising, Stiles can feel the animal inside him clawing and writhing with the need to claim him, bite him into submission regardless of the wolfsbane.

_“I fucking cleaved to Derek’s pack when he was the Alpha Scott, before we even had any idea that you were supposed to be a True Alpha!”_ He screams, getting up close and personal in Scott’s space now. Not afraid any longer. “You fucking bite me anyway and I’ll make it my fucking mission to end you. Consider yourself lucky I’m leaving and not doing it anyway. You murdered Derek Scott, I know you did. You knew they were stronger and you ordered him to attack anyway. You sent him to his death. You knew how I felt about him, what we were to each other, the plans we had. That we were mated. And you threw everysinglefuckingoneofthem back in my face when you sent him to fucking _DIE_!”

The words reverberate around the woods. There is nothing but still, silent air around them. Not even a breeze stirs.

Stiles’ breath heaves as he tries and fails to catch it, to even it out. He stares at the man standing in front of him. “You’re not Scott McCall anymore. You were supposed to be a ‘true’ Alpha, an Alpha who stayed pure. Not one who sent his pack out to die, all because you’re afraid of losing your own life, or the life of whoever you claim to be in love with any given week. No, it was easier to lose your pack instead. Which you’ve done you realise? Lydia is gone, she won’t be back either. Good luck putting a new one together, _Alpha McCall_.”

“Derek was never meant to be Alpha!” Scott yells at him now as he changes, facial hair sprouting, voice deepening, eyes reddening again and teeth lengthening.

“Oh fuck that shit! He was a _born_ wolf, he was better than all of you put together, he had more heart, more soul, more feeling for all of us, he treated us equally, something you’ve _never_ done.” Turning, Stiles walks down the steps.

He felt better he realised. Better for getting it off his chest. He closed his ears to any other words or platitudes that Scott might say or attempt, but he doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t even apologise.

Then, “I’ll vacate the house, turn it over to you.”

“I don’t want the fucking house, he left me the books. My dad will be coming next week to collect them, he has a list of every single title and he’ll mail them to me. You _will_ turn them over Scott.” Stiles threw out the last as an order and he fancied he heard a soft whine of acknowledgement.

Getting in his jeep, Stiles turns it around and leaves.

He doesn’t look back.

Back on the road, he heads through town again. Throwing a wave to the Sheriff’s station even though it’s his dad’s day off, Stiles continues on, turning south. And he drives without looking back, not even when he finally reaches his destination.

##########

_Mexico_

A couple of weeks later his dad has finally gathered all the books Derek had left. He’s holding them for now until Stiles figures out where the fuck he’s going to settle. He’s taken to jogging on the beach at sunset and finishing just as the sun dips into the sea for the night.

As he comes to the end of his run, he realises a lone figure is watching him through binoculars. His hand reaches back to his butt pack where he keeps a weapon. He never went anywhere unarmed these days. For human or supernatural baddies.

But after a few minutes his hand drops away. He recognises the figure. As he gets back to where he stops he pulls up and begins to stretch, makes the figure wait or come to him.

They come to him.

“You’re not a hard man to find.” They say.

“Wasn’t hiding.” He answers as he continues to stretch.

“Got a destination in mind then?” Stiles shakes his head. The man nods.

“I’ve got a business proposition for you.”

He very nearly tells the man to stuff it, but curiosity has him gesture toward the street. He stands at his jeep and looks at the man. “Follow me home.” The man nods and gets into his own SUV.

When he’s back at his place, Stiles takes a shower, leaving the man cooling his heels. Back, dressed in a pair of sweats and nothing else Stiles sits down at the kitchen table. “Talk then.”

“Okay, You’ll go through college, Masters, then Doctorate. In Mythology. And you catalogue the bestiary properly along the way. You allow me to train you physically, _psychologically_. Become a hunter, a fucking hunter of _all_ bad things that go bump in the night. Learn about it, take care of it, make the world safer.” The man paused, waiting to see if Stiles was going to interrupt.

He didn’t and the man continued. “I’ve got you a place at…” He went on saying where he’d procured a place for Stiles in college. That he’d live with him off campus, training would be immediate. “You’ve already been doing the job without training, but you need structure or one of these days, one of those will be fatal.” He says bluntly as he jerks his chin at Stiles’ numerous scars that he’d gotten fighting shit since he was sixteen.

“I also promised Derek that I’d give you this. The college education, it’s from him, not me.” Chris Argent drops an envelope on Stiles’ kitchen table and stands up. “I’ll be back in the morning for your answer.”

“See you in the morning.” He says to Chris. Nodding Chris leaves him to his letter.

 ##########

_Stiles,_

_I’m not saying dear Stiles, though you know you are. You’re everything, or you were. Or I was to you really. Because I’m the one that’s dead aren’t I? The fire, my family. We had money, we’re smart with money, Scott might get the house being the Alpha and all, but you get everything else._

_Take it, use it. Find others, help them, kill them. Keep people safe, do what we were going to do together anyway. Use Chris, he’s a good person. You remind me of each other. When I’m with him I think of you. He wants to help, he’s not just doing it out of obligation._

_Considering I’m dead, I’m not sure how I died, but I’m writing this because I have a bad feeling. I trust those feelings, like you do. I won’t tell you what to do with Scott. As I write this we’ve just finished talking about how he’s been changing. That said, he is or was your friend, not mine. I support you however you deal with him._

_I could honestly keep writing you forever, but forever is coming to a close I fear. I just hope it’s a close for me and not you, if it’s you I’ll be joining you very quickly, that you can be sure of. But you Stiles, you have such strength and purpose, you have life. A heart the likes of which I’ve never seen._

_You baby, will live. More, you’ll thrive. And every time you think of me, I’ll be there, watching you. Laughing with you, fighting with you. You have the spark Stiles, you can see if you want._

_But I’ll understand if you don’t._

##########

Folding himself into his bed that night with the letter clutched to his chest, Stiles again cried for the love that he’d lost. So much like his father.

The next morning, eyes dry and dead he accepts Chris Argent’s offer all the while feeling the pull, the need to join Derek lancing his insides like a dull needle.

But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to Derek _or_ his father. His father’s love pushes outward, wrapping around him. Stiles surrounds himself with it as he travels east, following Chris’ SUV.

Around halfway to their destination he looks in the rearview mirror and sees a spark in his eyes.

Derek, he thinks. _Derek_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know most people love a traditional happy ending. This story was never meant to be that. When I put fingers to keyboard, Derek was already dead. Whether you loved or hated it, I only I hope it made you feel something.


End file.
